GIFT  OF 


OH  ERIN  MY  HOME 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

By  FLORENCE  KELLETT 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 


COPYRIGHT.  1916 

By  FLORENCE  KELLETT 

SAN  FRANCISCO 

Entered  at  Stationers  Hall,  London 


TO 
LOVERS  OF  IRELAND 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Ireland 3 

Oh  Erin,  My  Home 4 

To  the  Land  of  the  Harp 6 

An  Irish  Immigrant 8 

There's  a  Grave  in  the  Green  Sod 10 

I  Dreamt  and  in  My  Dreams 12 

My  Cabin  Home 14 


OH  ERIN  MY  HOME 


IRELAND 

Dew  washed  and  sun  kissed, 
Out  of  the  blue  and  the  gray  mist, 
Vision  of  beauty  and  rest, 
Shining  afar  in  the  West. 
Gently  the  clouds  float  by 
Waking  the  sleeping  sky. 
Bathing  the  hill  and  glade 
In  light  of  every  shade. 

Green  land  of  hope  and  endeavor 
Whose  people  are  children  forever, 
Held  by  its  sway  they  glide 
Ever  a  long  life's  tide, 
Far  from  life's  crowded  way 
Dreaming  they  live  today, 
Free  in  their  own  wild  home 
Washed  by  the  sea's  white  foam. 

Island  so  loved  by  all, 
Who  hear  its  mystic  call, 
Enchantment  dwells  in  every  bower, 
In  tree  and  leaf  and  wayside  flower. 
All  hail  to  thee!  whose  magic  spell 
Is  felt  in  woodland  dale  and  dell. 
Oh  wondrous  land!  Oh  land  of  rest! 
A  green  light  shining  in  the  West. 


[31 


OH  ERIN,  MY  HOME 

Oh  Erin,  my  home, 
I  am  coming  to  thee, 
Across  desert  and  mountain 
And  river  and  sea. 

To  the  dear  little  cabin 
The  place  I  was  born 
Mid  the  wave  of  the  rye 
And  the  gleam  of  the  corn. 

Near  the  wild  rugged  mountain, 
Where  the  heather  grows  free, 
And  the  wild  rose  unfettered 
Creeps  down  to  the  sea. 

Oh  land  of  the  gray  mist, 
Of  sunshine  and  rain, 
In  thy  rapturous  beauty 
I  see  thee  again. 

Oh,  the  breath  of  the  bog  land, 
And  the  smell  of  the  peat, 
And  the  flowers  all  gleaming 
Like  stars  at  my  feet. 


[4] 


Soon,  soon,  I'll  be  with  you, 
Then,  never  to  part, 
I  shall  dream  my  last  dream 
In  the  land  of  my  heart. 

What  a  home  for  a  wanderer 
When  the  storms  are  past, 
In  the  green  isle  of  Erin 
There'll  be  rest  at  the  last. 


is) 


TO  THE  LAND  OF  THE  HARP 

Though  my  hair,  it  is  white, 
And  my  step,  it  is  slow, 
Yet  back  to  the  land 
Of  my  birth  I  will  go. 

Though  broken  in  life 
Like  surf  on  the  sea, 
Though  tossed  by  the  torrents 
And  tempests  that  be. 

Yet  I  know  I  shall  stand 

Again  on  the  shore, 

Of  the  land  of  the  harp 

And  the  shamrock,  once  more. 

Back,  back  to  my  cabin 
So  long  I  have  left, 
That  it  seems  but  a  ruin 
So  lone  and  bereft. 

Soon,  soon  what  a 
Glorified  home  it  will  be; 
What  a  haven  of  rest 
For  a  wanderer  like  me. 


[6] 


And  though  my  time  now 
Grows  shorter  each  day 
Fain,  fain,  would  I  linger 
Fain,  fain,  would  I  stay. 

Just  to  see  but  a  springtime 
And  autumn  once  more, 
Amid  the  green  hills 
Of  the  land  I  adore. 


Oh,  I  hear  a  voice  calling 
Far  over  the  sea, 
And  I  answer,  "I  am  coming, 
Dear  Erin,  to  thee. " 


AN  IRISH  IMMIGRANT 

I  am  lonely  in  the  twilight, 
I  am  lonely  in  the  morn, 
I  am  thinking  of  the  gray  mist 
Of  the  town  where  I  was  born. 

Oh,  that  little  Irish  village! 
Oh,  the  smiles  that  greeted  me! 
Oh,  those  true  hearts  fondly  beating! 
Happiness  it  was  to  see. 

How  I  long  again  to  meet  them 
Just  once  more  before  I  go 
To  that  land  where  I  shall  meet  them, 
I  am  ncaring  it,  I  know. 

How  I  long  to  see  the  mountains. 
And  the  rivers  rushing  by, 
And  the  quiet,  peaceful  valleys, 
Just  once  more  before  I  die. 

Oh,  the  little  straw  thatched  cabin 
In  the  bend  behind  the  hill, 
Is  it  ruined  and  forgotten 
Or  can  it  be  standing  still? 


[8] 


Never  more  again  I'll  see  it, 
Where  I  spent  my  childhood  days, 
Wandering  by  the  pleasant  river 
And  the  tangled  woody  ways. 

Oh,  the  scent  of  bog  and  heather 
And  the  lichen  fresh  and  green, 
Oh,  the  sense  of  rest  and  freedom, 
In  the  woodland  air  so  keen. 

Old  and  tired,  bent  and  worn, 
In  another  land  I'll  lie 
But  I'll  still  remember  Ireland 
Where  I  wish  that  I  could  die. 


May  its  bells  of  freedom  pealing 
Wake  me  where  I  lie  at  rest, 
And  its  flag  once  more  be  floating, 
Flashing  green  lights  in  the  West. 


[9] 


THERE'S  A  GRAVE  IN  THE 
GREEN  SOD 

I  have  a  message  for  you 
From  a  land  beyond  the  sea, 
From  the  home  of  the  little  shamrock, 
The  country  of  the  free. 

From  the  land  of  your  sire 
Where  your  fathers  lie  at  rest, 
From  that  green,  green  little  island, 
The  Emerald  of  the  West. 

Oh  balmy  are  its  breezes 
And  gently  do  they  blow, 
And  many  are  the  flowers 
That  in  its  woodlands  grow. 

No  land  on  earth  can  ever 
Be  fairer  in  your  eyes; 
Think  of  its  glorious  sunsets 
And  of  its  morning  skies. 

Think  of  the  gray  blue  mountains 
And  of  the  wandering  streams, 
Oh!  only  shall   such   beauty 
Return  to  you  in  dreams. 


10] 


Oh   Ireland   recalls, 

The  sons  who  left  her  shore, 

Who  went  away  in  sadness 

To  come  back  to  her  once  more. 

Oh  children  of  the  green  sod, 
Of  the  Celtic  ancient  race, 
Remember  in  your  native  land 
There  is  for  you  a  place. 

A  place  with  peace  and  honor 
She  will  give  you  with  the  best, 
A  quiet,  peaceful,  sheltered  place 
Wherein  your  soul  can  rest. 


in] 


I  DREAMT  AND  IN  MY  DREAMS 

I  dreamt,  and  in  my  dreams  I  heard 
Sweet  music  faint  and  low, 
It  was  a  song  of  Ireland, 
A  song  of  long  ago. 

I  saw  once  more  my  dear  old  home 
With  its  gables  and  its  towers, 
The  dear  old  fashioned  garden 
With  all  its  brilliant  flowers. 

Once  more  I  heard  the  church  bells  ring 
Through  the  quiet  evening  air. 
Once  more  I  sang  the  vesper  hymn, 
Once  more  I  knelt  at  prayer. 

And  then  I  saw  the  harvest  moon 
Shed  forth  its  lustrous  light 
Upon  the  fields  of  yellow  corn. 
It  was  a  glorious  sight. 

Then  in  the  early  dawn 
I  walked  beside  the  silent  stream, 
I  saw  the  blue  forget-me-not 
And  picked  it  in  my  dream. 


I  saw  the  mountains  and  the  hills 
The  woodland  and  the  lea, 
And  memories  of  bygone  days 
Came  rushing  over  me. 

For  Ireland  and  for  freedom 
I  felt  my  pulses  glow, 
I  saw  the  patriots  of  old 
Go  forth  to  meet  the  foe. 

And  when  I  saw  the  green  flag 
That  fluttered  in  the  air, 
I  prayed  that  God  would  bless  it 
And  that  God  would  hear  my  prayer. 

Oh  Ireland  forever 
Thou  art  graven  on  my  heart, 
No  dream  can  make  thee  sweeter 
Or  fairer  than  thou  art. 


[13] 


MY  CABIN  HOME 

I  have  a  little  cabin 
That  is  everything  to  me— 
Behind  it,  is  a  mountain 
Before  it,  is  the  sea. 

Around  it  is  the  wildness 
Of  the  Island  of  the  West, 
It  is  the  only  home  I  know, 
The  only  place  of  rest. 

As  I  linger  in  the  doorway 
To  see  the  setting  sun, 
My  fireside  it  calls  to  me 
After  the  day  is  done. 

Oh,  dear,  dear  is  my  cabin 
Beyond  all  earthly  worth, 
I  would  not,  could  not,  change  it  now 
For  anything  on  earth. 

And  I  have  traveled  far  and  wide 
O'er  many  and  many  a  sea 
But  nothing  now  shall  ever  take 
My  cabin  home  from  me. 

God  bless  the  hills  of  Ireland, 

God  bless  its  heart  so  true, 

God  give  me  strength  and  grace  to  live, 

For  many  a  year  with  you! 


HERE  ENDS  "OH  ERIN,  MY  HOME,  AND 
OTHER  VERSE'   BY  F.  KELLETT.     DONE 
INTO  BOOK  FORM  BY  PAUL  ELDER  AND 
COMPANY    AND    PRINTED    AT    THEIR 
TOMOYE    PRESS    UNDER  THE   DIREC- 
TION OF  HERMAN  A.   FUNKE  IN  THE 
CITY  OF  SAN  FRANCISCO  DURING  THE 
MONTH     OF    MAY,     NINETEEN 
HUNDRED  AND  SIXTEEN 


3768. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


